Shadows of Our Images
by StarzAngelus
Summary: After the defeat of the Wicked Witch, a stranger arrives, leading Emma and Killian to a new adventure. Captain Swan. Complete.


_**A/N:** Honestly, this was written on a whim to cheer my fellow shipmates up with random ficcage. It's a silly one-shot for now but it could be continued. _

* * *

"It will be okay, Emma. You did it. We knew you would," he said into her hair, grasping her head tenderly.

"I know," she mumbled into his chest. "I just… David... _Dad_… I'm not sure—This is all just—I don't know—"

"Think about this," David cut her off, leaning away to look her in the eye. "What is our family motto? We will _always_ find each other. And do you remember how you got here? How you came back to us?"

Emma looked away, nodding slowly, biting her lip. It was just too much. Somehow deep inside she had always known. They were drawn to each other from the beginning and from then it had only grown, grand and endless into the blue like the beanstalk, reaching for the sky and straight into a light yet terrifying oblivion.

"You should talk to him."

She pursed her lips, gazing into David's clear and loving eyes, and for the first time, she felt like a child turning to her father for help. "I don't know what to say. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess it up?" The tears were running freely down her face now, the words blurting out like bursting dam. "I'm scared… I've never… I have never felt…"

"Hey," David said, tucking his hand under her chin. He gave her a watery smile, bright and loving. "It's worth fighting for. Believe me." Giving her a tender kiss on her forehead, he squeezed her one last time, before letting her go. "Plus, do remember who we're talking about here? You could never say the wrong thing to him."

She chuckled, blowing a stray lock out of her face, and rubbing her hands against her cheeks. "I don't know about that."

"Well, why don't you go try?"

_Try_. Such a simple word. _Take a leap of faith_, Rumplestiltskin had said and so she did, and then the curse had broken and everything had returned to how it had been before. Except that it hadn't. Or perhaps it was.

David cocked his head to the side, and for a moment Emma was startled by how regal he looked standing tall and proud in front of her. "Do you remember what I told you the other—well, no, it was over a year ago now, wasn't it? Jesus, you'd think I would be used to it by now. Two dark curses… How have I—" He scratched his head sheepishly and then cleared his throat. "Anyway, that doesn't matter now. What I'm saying is, do you remember what I told you when I found you by the docks that day? About finding the good moments, Emma? Because that is life. It is made of moments: both good and bad and you cannot live dwelling on just the bad. Find the good ones, or make them, but most of all, embrace them."

Her eyes were closed now, focusing on the memory. They had just returned from that nightmarish hellhole, run by a psychotic fairy-tale character that merely looked like a teenager but was actually a centuries-old man. So much time had passed since then and yet it seemed like no time had passed at all. A lifetime of memories, a new life, another curse, reuniting her family again, finding—she gulped—_love_ and here she was feeling just as lost as when she had unlocked the map Pan had given her.

"Happy endings begin with hope, Emma," David said, looking over head into the distance. "You are proof of that." And with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, he walked away towards her mother, who had been watching them from across the clearing with curious eyes.

Emma sighed. It was now or never. She was a bounty hunter, for Christ's sake. She took down a dragon without ever having held a sword before. She took down the Wicked Witch. She had—her body trembled, her mind still reeling from the truth—broken _two_ curses with the touch of her lips. _True Love's kiss…_

Steeling her shoulders with resolve, she walked into the woods.

* * *

The cool breeze flowed across his face, fluttering his hair and stinging his parched lips. He brought the flask to his mouth and took a long drink, the slight burn jolting him faintly into attentiveness. He had been sitting on the log for what seemed like hours now, away from the clearing and the commotion and the reunions and… _her_. He rolled his shoulders, trying feebly to rid himself of the tension and flinched when he felt the soreness in his chest. Bloody witch. The arrow had nearly pierced his heart and even though the wound had closed now, the phantom pain coursed through him as if it were still open. The cuts and bruises had all been healed now, had been healed by what she had done, but the wounds still felt strangely raw. It didn't make sense and yet it did. He didn't know how long he had been under but whatever the damned witch had done was enough to pierce him thoroughly.

A twig snapped and he snapped his head to look behind him and he watched a gray rabbit scurry away in fear. He chastised himself mentally for feeling ridiculously hopeful, feeling it slip away like the breeze. The pain in his chest increased.

She needed time, that much he knew with every fiber of his being, and yet still he felt wrong. He knew the instant he had opened his eyes what she had done, the power binding them together for a brief and wonderful moment, and then her eyes gazed into his—wide and full of hope. _You saved me_, he had said. _Does that surprise you?_ she had replied… and then she had been swept away by hugs and kisses and questions and he had remained sitting on the ground, watching her with soft eyes. She had looked back at him many times and his heart had swelled, and then it had clamped as he watched the familiar fear creep into her beautiful face and he had walked away. She needed space and needed time and he would wait. He had waited three hundred years, then another twenty-eight… what was another few minutes or days when you had—

"Hook?"

He dropped his flask to the ground, shutting his eyes, wishing fervently that it wasn't a hallucination, and turned slowly towards her voice.

She was staring solemnly at the ground, biting her lip nervously, digging her boot into the dirt, hair still tousled from the blast of magic, and arms wrapped around herself securely. Her jacket was in ruins, one sleeve completely hanging by small piece by her shoulder; the scratch on her cheek looked red and swollen, the dried mud from being dragged across the field streaked excessively on her clothes and hands and hair, and her trousers were completely smothered with dirt.

To Killian Jones, pirate and scourge of the seas, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Hook," she said again quietly, pulling him from his thoughts. She was now gazing at him intently. "Are you okay?"

"Aye," he replied dumbly, mesmerized by her presence.

Hesitantly, like a bird, she walked towards him and softly sat next to him, closer than he had anticipated. And then to his absolute amazement, she placed her hand in his, grasping it firmly.

"David told me that they'll be gathering the bodies for the next few days. They keep finding them everywhere. The enchantment has come off and most if not all have turned human again." She sighed, scratching her nose. "Regina said that they'll have no memory of it."

"A small mercy," he croaked out, still stunned.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"What about—"

"Oh, yes. Him, too." She scrunched her face as if in thought. "It feels unreal."

"It wasn't your fault," he said lightly, scolding himself mentally for bringing up her former companion. It had come as a shock to discover that he was in fact in league with the Wicked Witch, but after discovering that he had been coerced by the witch and had done it to save his family, the man had proved to be quite useful. Until he had been cursed into a flying monkey, of course. Emma was still hesitant to forgive him—the betrayal ran deep—but she held no lasting grudge.

"I know it wasn't. I just feel as if I should have known. I did know, on some level, I think, but I never thought that it was like _that_, you know?"

He squeezed her hand gently, "You weren't yourself. Don't berate yourself for something that was out of your power. He wormed himself into your life, Emma. Your trust for him was understandable. You couldn't have known."

She remained quiet for a few moments and then released a deep breath, and he saw the tension in her shoulders subside. Her lips turned up into a small smile. "But then you came and turned it all upside down. And suddenly it all made sense. I thought that I was just being paranoid, that my natural distrust in others was something that I had to learn to let go. But when you asked me if you had ever lied to me, that was when I knew. I knew." She then gazed into his face fondly, placing her hand upon his cheek, stroking his beard tenderly. "Thank you. For everything."

His heart was beating a rapid tattoo in his chest, ready to burst at the seams, and yet still, even after their dancing around each other the last few months while searching for a way to defeat the evil witch, even after he willingly took the curse so that she didn't have to, even after she had awoken him with her precious lips, he feared—feared that at any moment she would be taken away, just like everyone else that he had cared for in his life. Killian had come into the world and immediately his mother had been taken, the strain of his birth proving too much for her weak body. His father—gods only knew where he was now; it had been over three hundred years since he had seen the immortality-obsessed lunatic—had deserted him and his brother for a life of piracy, a cruel irony that echoed in his chest even centuries later. Liam—honorable and magnificent Liam—taken by that accursed island, which he had promised to never return to ever again and yet did. And then Milah, beautiful and vivacious Milah, whose heart now spread with the wind.

Over a year ago, his Swan had been taken, too, and though it had taken many months and perils that he would never wish upon anyone (not even that blasted Crocodile), he had found her again. And now she was here, staring at him, waiting.

They had shared an unexpected passionate kiss the night before the final battle with the Wicked Witch, and then days later, the kiss that broke the curse, but both had been out of desperation, a final string to hold on to should they never have another chance.

There were no barriers anymore and she was here, with him, gazing at him expectantly. Hurling caution to the wind, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

It happened almost instantly, the overwhelming feeling flooding through him like the first time they had kissed. Warm and overpowering, spreading from his chest to his entire body, lifting him up into the heavens and never letting go. _This is true love_, he thought vaguely, but it wasn't enough, her lips were not enough, and suddenly her hands were in his hair and he pulled her close with his arms.

A loud thud was heard from in front of them in the deep woods and they broke apart quickly, Killian placing his hand on his scabbard and Emma reaching for her gun. There was a slight rustle and muttered words and then a young boy emerged from behind the trees.

He was dusting off his bottom, clutching a gold necklace in his hand, when he stopped abruptly in front of them, mouth hanging open in shock. "By the gods, it worked!"

Emma stepped forward slowly, putting a placating hand on Killian's arm to stand back. "Can we help you? Are you lost?"

"I—" the boy sputtered, blinking rapidly as if to dispel a vision, and then his whole face lit up into a genuinely, happy smile. "I found you!"

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing at Killian unsurely. "Uh, what are you talking about, kid?"

The child sauntered forward, trying desperately not to run, and then stood proudly in front of them, puffing up his chest and then his expression turned somber, as if holding a great burden. Killian empathized with him immediately, recognizing a similar spirit like himself inside the small boy. He had dark hair and intense blue eyes and for a moment a faraway memory settled in his mind before disappearing. He shook his head, driving away his thoughts.

"I need your help," the boy said, his eyes turning watery. "My family is in danger and I didn't know who else to go to."

"Hey," Emma began, touching his shoulder gently. His eyes were now brimming with tears. "The witch, she's dead now, and Storybrooke is no longer in any danger."

"Storybrooke?" the boy asked, confused and then his eyes grew wide. "Wait a minute! Storybrooke. Storybrooke, Maine? I'm in the Land Without Magic?"

"Yes, young lad," Killian answered, brows furrowed in thought. "Are you from another realm?"

"I—yes. And no." He shuffled his feet and tugged at the necklace, knuckles white with the strain. "I'm from here but I live somewhere else."

"Where?" Emma asked. She looked to Killian and nodded, confirming the truth in the boy's words.

The boy stared at them blankly and cocked his head to the side, a gesture that Killian thought looked strangely familiar. "That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that we have to leave now before the portal closes."

"What!" Emma and Killian yelled in unison, and the boy flinched back as if burned.

"Did I just hear you correctly?" Emma asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "Did you just say that there is an _open _portal somewhere in these woods?"

"Yes," the boy answered, a defiant glint in his eye.

Killian stood taken aback by the child's fire, impressed.

"How old are you?" Emma asked, eyes narrowed in undisguised scrutiny.

"Eight."

"And where are your parents?"

"Did you just defeat the Wicked Witch?" the boy asked, completely disregarding her question.

"Yes," Killian replied wearily. There was a strange sensation in the air which he recognized as the magic that was used to open portals to other realms. The hair on his arms began to prickle and a strange tingle began in his fingers.

"Blast, I went too far back," the boy said, running a small hand through his hair, tousling it into disarray, and Emma gasped quietly. Killian noted the boy carefully and then froze.

"Boy," Killian asked slowly, a gripping fear settling in his stomach. "Who are your parents?"

The boy stepped back, eyes wide and wild with fear, looking for all the world as if he had just been reprimanded. "I ca—can't tell you."

"Look, kid," Emma said, using her _I'm the Sheriff and you will listen_ voice. "You just asked us for our help and if you don't tell us exactly what is going on, we won't be able to help you. The more details you can provide us with, the better."

"I—" the young boy began and then he burst into tears, wiping furiously at his eyes. Emma reached out automatically to comfort him but he recoiled from her hand and then glared back at her. "Fine. I will tell you everything. But don't shoot the messenger, I know how you two are."

"What do you—"

He didn't let her finish and continued talking with flourish. "I was born in the Land Without Magic but my family is from the Enchanted Forest. A few months ago, a man arrived at our castle seeking shelter. My grandparents, who are oh so kind and noble—" He rolled his eyes and again, Killian was again hit with the familiarity. "—allowed him to stay and in return he repaid us with a golden apple. Three days later, the attacks began and then continued to get worse every day. Soon it began spreading to the rest of the kingdom and then to the other realms, and my family has been trying to stop it ever since." He paused and sniffled and raised his shoulders stiffly. "My mother is very powerful and she and my dad went on a mission a few weeks ago. They never came back."

"Lad, I'm so sor—"

"No, they aren't dead!" he yelled back. "They are stronger than that. They never fail."

"Hey kid," Emma said hesitantly. She placed her hand back on his shoulder. "I'm sure they're all right."

Killian stood still, observing the pair carefully. The boy was telling the truth but the danger that he spoke of was not possible. Every inhabitant of the Enchanted Forest had been cursed to Storybrooke again. Either the child truly believed what he was saying or there was some sort of evil at work here. The smell of magic continued to permeate the air and then he caught sight of the chain around the boy's neck. It was made of the finest gold, glistening with an unearthly glow, and at the end rested a perfectly crafted key. As Killian's eyes widened in recognition, the boy looked back at him, realization dawning on his own features.

"I should have known you would recognize it," the boy said, and he was smiling again. "My father told me the tales."

"Hook, what is he talking about?"

The boy's eyes widened. "Hook? You still call him Hook? Oh, dear. You're going to kill me when I get back."

"_We_?" Emma asked and the boy nodded.

"My parents."

"Excuse me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

The boy rolled his eyes again and both adults remained transfixed. With a wicked grin that would have made his father proud, the boy grabbed the key around his neck and lifted it up into the air. "Honestly. I was sure you would have figured it out by now but _no_, leave it all to poor Liam to explain everything. I should have asked for Henry."

Giving them no moment to question what he said, he then shouted at the key in an unknown language and then a powerful wind began to encircle the small group. Emma shouted in surprise as she was almost swept off her feet and Killian reached out to steady her. They clutched at each other tightly as a swirling gray vortex began to open under them.

"Who the hell are you?" Emma screamed as the twisting mass rose from the ground.

The young boy stood steady, unfazed by the strong winds, feet rooted into the ground as if nothing were wrong. He grinned at them and looked directly into Emma's eyes.

"My name is Liam and I'm your son."

The portal opened and they fell through.

* * *

_Review?_


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